Writer & Artist

Summer Memories

The clouds spun lazy over head, moving like slow sweet cream. Blowing west to east away from the sun and heading towards Mt. Lassen, twice faded into the background blue.

Her butt was wet, black bottoms dark with the pond water that flowed in when her weight pressed down on the bright plastic raft. Half wet, half dry was the way one made it through the heat of the day. It could easily surpass 104 in the mid afternoon.

So she floated in the pond all day. Rolling off to dive into the dark cool depths where the frogs must hide during the day. Dozed drying as the sun called the water to dance a vapor dance back to the sky. Watched through lidded eyes blue and red dragon flies mate and alight on grass blades joined.

Floop, a fish leaping to snap a snack out of the cool air. Splashes of children, feet hollow thumping on the deck. “Close the door” a parent shouts.

Rhythmic shoomp shoomp splash splash as the peddle boat makes it’s way to the floating dock, dropping the almost teens to lay and dive, to push and splash. Their bodies slim and slender, or still chubby with unshed childhood.. They arrange themselves in poses that say the body senses a change that they themselves are not conscious of yet. Conscious of each other in an unconscious way. Still remember being toddlers together dressed up as batman as princess Aurora. One foot in the toy box, another foot in developing hips, and widening shoulders, acne and cracking voices.

The clouds overhead thin and the blue flattens in afternoon sun. Clouds drawn thin like wool pulled and spun into yarn. Shoomp Shoomp splash splash. The peddle boat draws near and a tall glass chilly with condensation and ice is delivered along with an umbrella to cover her head. One tan hand hangs on to pond scummed fiber glass. He laughs blue eyes behind sun glasses, and a straw hat, sharing a story of the younger children who were playing inside, a princess with her nerf gun.

Shoomp Shoomp, the transaction complete, the peddle boat slides away leaving a cloud of silt like the tail of a some dirty peacock.

She splashes one foot in the tea stained water, finding the silty soft bottom. The raft streams out from her toes as from an anchor, pulling gently this way and that.

The dragon flies gather, flickering in the air like water dropped silver.